


Words He Couldn't Say

by amutemockingjay



Category: Bob's Burgers (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Sickfic, having the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 08:51:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13586598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amutemockingjay/pseuds/amutemockingjay
Summary: "You got me sick!""Louise, you didn't have to make out with me."Sickfic featuring Logan taking care of Louise. Just a little bit of fluff.





	Words He Couldn't Say

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all. I know I haven't updated Whispering; I promise I will. It's on the table. I just have a lot going on right now, and to burn off a little stress and steam I wrote this sickfic about Louise and Logan. Just a little bit of fluff to brighten your day.

It started with a sore throat. Louise couldn’t stand sore throats, she wasn’t some kind of pussy wimp, but she hated the lump in her throat, the sandpapery feeling, the ache every time she swallowed. And she knew exactly who was responsible. 

She dialed his number, “You son of a bitch.” 

Logan sighed on the other end of the line. “What, Louise?” 

“You got me sick!” 

“I tried to warn you.” 

She began to cough. Her head was spinning and her limbs felt heavy. She was tired, so tired. “Bullshit you did.” 

“Louise, you didn’t have to make out with me.” 

She paused to consider that. He wasn’t wrong, and it was the first time she had made out with him while sober. She had been too tired, on that camping trip, to get drunk the first night. And somehow, somehow his hands had been on her waist, his lips on hers. She had welcomed the touch, more than she wanted to admit. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking, making out with you while sober,” she snapped. 

“Maybe I taste better when I don’t taste of tequila.” His voice was light, teasing, not the usual virulence they saved for each other. 

She considered all the implications of the word taste, and her stomach did a little backflip. Just because she was sick. That was the only reason. 

“Either way, I’m sick, and it’s your fault.” 

“What, exactly, do you propose I should do about that, Louise?” 

Louise remembered her childhood, her refusal of medicine, her fever dream about Kuchi Kopi, her pushing away of her family. There was a loneliness there, and she remembered the half-baked lesson, to let people in, to be kinder. 

“You could take care of me,” she said, her voice small. She didn’t like this, this being vulnerable business. But her parents were in the restaurant, and she was ordered to keep her germy hands away from the burgers. 

Much to her surprise, he agreed. “I’ll be over in ten.” 

* * *

 

Louise was curled up in her bed, shivering, when he arrived. He rang the bell, and she groaned, wrapping herself up in her comforter and going downstairs to answer. 

“I hate you for making me get out of bed,” she said. 

He had a backpack on. “I brought gatorade. And medicine.”

“Ugh. Medicine.” She shuddered, remembering the liquid her parents always used to attempt to force her to drink. 

He smiled at her, and she felt that flipping thing again, her palms sticky. It had to be the fever. “I’m sorry I made you get out of bed.” 

“No, you’re not,” she replied. “You’re never sorry.” 

“Maybe I am, for once.” In one bold sweep, he leaned over and picked her up, bridal style. 

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“Bringing you back to bed.”

She pounded his back with her fists, but she could feel the weakness in her hits, not up to her usual standard. “I can walk myself, you ass.” 

“You’re sick. I’m taking care of you.” He walked up the stairs and to her room, and she found herself settling into him, breathing in his scent, and some part of her, the storm that usually raged inside her, calmed a little. 

She curled up into bed, shivering, and he sat on the edge. “Can I…?”

“I don’t care, Logan.”

“Okay.” He crawled in next to her, wrapping his arms around her. He placed a cool hand on her forehead, and she shivered at the touch. “Christ, you’re burning up.” 

She made some muffled response. Her head hurt; her body ached all over. She wanted to sleep forever. 

He reached into his backpack. “Here, I’ve got some medicine.”

“Not drinking that gross stuff,” she mumbled. 

“It’s not the liquid. It’s a pill. Can you swallow a pill?” 

“Yeah.” He handed her the pill and she took it with a sip of water by the bedside. 

“What else can I do for you?” 

“I dunno,” she mumbled. “Wanna sleep.” 

“Okay.” He pulled her close, and began stroking her hair. She didn’t protest; she liked the feeling of him, of sensing his heartbeat, of letting the scent of his soap flood her. He was comforting, more than she wanted to admit, and she let herself be lulled to sleep by his presence. 

Logan watched Louise sleep, watched her breathe in and out, her cheeks flushed by fever. He hadn’t meant to get her sick, and contrary to what she thought, he was sorry. Sorry that she was sick, but not sorry that he had kissed her. If he could, he’d kiss her all day. Instead, he settled for a quick kiss at the temple, brushing back her dark hair. 

And the whispered confession, the one he knew he could never say to her when she was awake, but he had often thought of. 

“I love you.” 

 


End file.
